


Consonant

by InuChanFan



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adult Content, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2020-12-09 13:06:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20995292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InuChanFan/pseuds/InuChanFan
Summary: Gendry and Arya reunite at Winterfell shortly before the Great War. Many things have changed over the years, but the important things have all remained the same.





	1. Chapter 1

He was green, leaning over the port side of the Greyjoy ship just in case his breakfast decided to resurface. Again.

Even with the Westerosi shore always in view, Gendry felt horribly sea sick. Ser Davos said he would get his sea legs soon, whatever those were. But he’d been saying that since day one and it still hadn’t happened yet.

Gendry had only ever been on skiffs before this, and usually for nor more than a few hours at a time. The trip from Dragonstone to Eastwatch was now over a week long, and they had yet to reach their final destination.

Gendry thought the sooner they get there, the better. He officially hated travelling by sea.

Jon came up from below deck just in time to see Gendry heaving over the side once more. The King in the North, always concerned for his men, walked over to stand by his fellow bastard.

“You alright,” Jon asked.

“Fine.” Gendry lied. “How much longer until we make it to Eastwatch?”

The air was growing colder by the day. They made port in White Harbor several days ago, their alleged halfway mark. They must be close to the North by now, if they weren’t there already. Gendry knew Jon wasn’t a nautical man, not like Ser Davos, but if anyone knew how much longer they were going to be on this fucking ship, it would surely be the man in charge.

“If the wind holds, we should be there tomorrow,” Jon said.

“Thank the Gods.” Gendry spit out into the water, trying to clear the taste of bile from his mouth.

“I take if you haven’t found your sea legs.”

“I don’t think there is such a thing as sea legs.” Jon laughed and clapped Gendry on the back, a gesture the young blacksmith really could have done without.

Jon also didn’t care to travel by sea. But apart from riding a dragon, it was the fastest way to reach the Wall. It was also the least taxing on the men. While everyone was onboard, they were able to rest and prepare for what was to come.

Being stuck together, they’d even been able to get to know one another a bit. Gendry had come to see that Jon was a truly beloved king, not only by his men, but by all the people he came in contact with. He was thoughtful, even tempered and surprisingly approachable despite his title.

But those were merely observations Gendry gleaned from a distance. Though they were slowly becoming more comfortable around one another, Gendry and Jon hadn’t had much opportunity to speak candidly like they did during their first meeting.

If they were truly arriving tomorrow, time for that was quickly running out. The circumstances were less than ideal, but there were a few things Gendry needed to discuss with his new King.

“Your Grace, since you’re here, there is something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you.” Jon raised his hand, indicating that Gendry should continue. “After we catch a white walker, I can’t go to King’s Landing with you.” Gendry worried Jon would find this insubordinate, but if anything, Jon seemed to appreciate the candor.

Jon had taken a liking to Gendry as well. He had a way of being brazenly honest without coming off as cruel or condescending. He was strong and hard-working, which quickly saw him rise in Jon’s esteem.

“Can’t stand another week on this ship?” Jon teased.

“That’s a large part of it.” Gendry winced. His stomach hadn’t stopped rolling yet. But it was more than that. “However illegitimate I might be, Queen Cersei’s already sent the Gold Cloaks after me once before.”

Jon empathized. He knew exactly what it felt like when powerful women wished you weren’t alive. He spent his entire childhood avoiding the wrath of Catelyn Stark, for Gods sakes.

“Cersei’s no friend of mine, either,” Jon said reassuringly.

“No, but you’re the King in the North.” Gendry argued. “I’m just one of Robert’s many bastards. If I come within fifty feet of her, she’d recognize me, same as Jon Arryn, and Ned Stark, and Stannis Baratheon all recognized me. She’d send someone after me that instant.”

“I would never allow that to happen.”

“Thank you, Your Grace, but trust me, it is better if I don’t go south with you. I would be a distraction. And you’ll already have plenty of those with Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons flying around.”

Jon smiled at the thought and shook his head. “I wasn’t expecting you to abandon my service so soon.”

“That is not my intention, Your Grace.” Now Gendry was flustered. “I was about to ask if you’re alright with my staying in the North. And if so, is there someplace else I can serve you while you’re in King’s Landing?”

“You’re a blacksmith by trade?” Jon asked remembering bits of conversations they’d had in the last week.

“I am.”

“You any good?”

“Best in Flea Bottom.” Even sick to his stomach, Gendry managed to tell Jon of his work. Gendry explained how he’d had a shop on the Street of Steel where he did repair work for the Lannister army, and he was often commissioned for custom swords and armor. Give him some metal and a place to work it, he could create just about anything. “Ser Davos actually came to Flea Bottom to get me so I could work at the Winterfell forges.”

This was news to Jon. When they’d first met, Gendry immediately said he wanted to fight, which is how he’d been chosen for the journey to Eastwatch. But it would only make sense given Gendry’s profession that he should have a proper place to work and plenty of things to work on.

“Did Ser Davos explain what you’d be making in Winterfell?” Gendry shook his head. All he knew was that they needed weapons to fight the Army of the Dead.

Jon pulled a primitive looking knife from his belt and showed it to Gendry. “This is called Dragonglass, or obsidian. It’s one of the few things we know can kill a white walker. We were actually mining it at Dragonstone when you first arrived. We stopped in White Harbor to offload several large crates of it, and it’s being sent to Winterfell to be made into weapons like this one.

“When we’re done in Eastwatch, go to Winterfell. I’ll write you a letter of recommendation which you can take as proof that you’re there under my orders. I’ve left my sister in charge. She’ll....”

“Which sister?” Gendry asked suddenly. The words just fell out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

Jon raised an eyebrow at him. “Sansa...Why do you ask?”

“Well...it’s just I know you have two sisters, Your Grace.” Gendry stumbled. One difficult conversation was all he’d planned on today. He really hoped Jon wouldn’t press the matter.

Unfortunately, luck was not on his side.

Jon did not waiver. “As do most people who live in Westeros,” he said back.

Gendry looked to the water. He hadn’t wanted to tell Jon like this, but now he had no choice. “I know one of your sisters, Your Grace. Small. Dark hair. Short temper.”

“Arya?”

“Aye. Shortly after your Lord Father was killed, I lost my apprenticeship at Master Mott’s.”

“Why?”

“Never said. But my master told me how to find a recruiter for the Night’s Watch named Yoren. There was nothing keeping me in King’s Landing anymore, and he knew I’d always wanted to be of use. Thought maybe I could work as a smith at the Wall. So I sought him out; I joined Yoren’s recruits, which is how I met Arya.”

“Arya was with him?”

Gendry nodded. “I heard them talking about it one night. Yoren picked her up out of the crowd at the Sept of Baelor when your father was about to be executed. When I asked her about it later, she said Yoren was delivering her to Winterfell since it was on the way to the Wall.”

Jon gaped. “We all thought she died in King’s Landing…”

“I’m afraid that was on purpose, Your Grace. A lot of powerful people were looking for her. The best chance she had of getting home was to hide in plain sight and let people think whatever they wanted. To that end, she was disguised as a boy while she was travelling with us. And the rest of Yoren’s recruits were so stupid, nobody knew she was a girl, let alone Arya Stark.”

“How did you find out, then?”

“I knew she was a girl from the beginning. Short hair only did so much, I’m afraid.” Gendry avoided the memorable conversation about pissing and cocks. “I threatened to out her to the rest of the lads, but she begged me not to. She told me her name, then. And I knew what would happen if the Lannisters found her, so I promised her I wouldn’t say anything to anyone. And I never did. Not until now.”

Jon stood in silence for a minute, taking it all in. “Since you’re not in black, I take it you never made it to the Wall.” It wasn’t a question, but Gendry knew that he was getting at.

“No.” That was an even more complicated story than the one he’d just told. Without going into too many details, Gendry said, “We were separated. I wound up in Dragonstone at the mercy of Stannis and his red witch, but I eventually made my way back to Flea Bottom where Davos found me. Never heard what happened to Arya, though.”

“I don’t know either, but I do know she’s alive. I just received word that she’s in Winterfell.”

“Good.” Gendry said trying his best to hide his relief. She finally made it home.

~

The Greyjoy ship pulled into a cove outside Eastwatch the following day. Jon, Gendry, Ser Jorah, Ser Davos and a handful of others took two skiffs to shore. They met a Wildling on the beach named Tormund, who Jon had installed at the outpost a few months before.

Tormund was a large man, much taller than Gendry, with fire red hair and a beard to match. He embraced Jon warmly, then turned and led them all inside. He showed them to a large room with a rectangular table in the middle. Jon motioned for everyone to sit while Tormund and his men set about getting cups of ale for the new arrivals. When everyone was seated and properly plied, the southerners, as Tormund called them, explained their plan.

Tormund turned to Davos at once. “Isn’t it your job to talk him out of stupid, fucking ideas like this?”

“I’ve been failing at that job of late,” the old smuggler sighed.

Still trying to grasp the details of this completely ridiculous plan, Tormund asked, “How many queens are there now?”

“Two,” Jon said.

“And you need to convince the one with the dragons or the one who fucks her brother?”

Gendry couldn’t help but laugh. This situation was completely absurd. Even in a country that had been plagued with royals coming and going every few years, this was a little ridiculous. He liked Tormund immediately for putting it so plainly.

“Both.”

“How many men did you bring?” The Wildling asked.

Jon looked down the table. “Not enough.”

“The big woman?” Whoever that was, Tormund seemed disheartened she wasn’t there.

“We were hoping some of your men could help,” Ser Jorah spoke up.

“I’ll be staying behind,” Davos chimed in. “I’m a liability out there, as you well know.”

“You are.” Tormund turned back to Jon without waiting for Davos to react. Again, Gendry let out a small laugh. “You really want to go out there? Again?” He asked, this time he was serious again.

Jon nodded in response. Tormund waited a moment before admitting, “You’re not the only ones.”

Tormund stood and led them down the hall. Jon and his advisors went first, followed by Gendry and the rest of Jon’s men. When Tormund reached his final destination, the dungeon several floors below, he turned back to Jon and said, “My scouts found them a mile south of the Wall. Said they were on their way here.”

Inside, they found Sandor Clegane lying on a bench in the middle of the cell. Thoros of Myr and Ser Beric Dondarrion were there as well, sitting low in the shadows of the back wall. “They want to go beyond the Wall too,” Tormund said.

“We don’t want to go beyond the Wall. We have to,” Beric corrected him. “Our Lord told us that the Great War is coming.”

Gendry stopped halfway down the stairs. Being towards the back of the group, he couldn’t yet see who was there. But he knew that voice.

“Don’t trust him,” Gendry blurted out as he rushed down the last few steps. “Don’t trust any of them. They’re the Brotherhood, and the last thing their Lord told them to do was to sell me to a red witch to be murdered.”

Gendry turned to Jon. “Your Grace, remember how I said Arya and I were separated? That was how it happened.”

Jon turned to the prisoners, confused. “Arya was with The Brotherhood?”

“For a time,” Thoros said. “Before she ran off.”

“Thoros,” Jorah called. “I hardly recognized you.”

The old priest leaned forward into the light. “Ser Jorah Mormont,” Thoros replied. “They won’t give me anything to drink down here. I haven’t been feeling like myself.”

“You’re a fucking Mormont?” Tormund suddenly turned to the older man. “Like the last Lord Commander?”

“He was my father.” Jorah stood tall, ready to take on the Wildling if he had to.

“He hunted us like animals,” Tormund seethed.

“You returned the favor, as I recall.”

Things were spiraling quickly, and Beric started laughing at the exchange. “Here we all are,” he said, “at the edge of the world, at the same moment, heading in the same direction for the same reason.”

“Our reasons aren’t your reasons,” Ser Davos said, who was now standing behind Gendry in a show of support.

“It doesn’t matter what we think our reasons are. There’s a greater purpose at work, and we serve it together, whether we know it or not. We may take the steps, but the Lord of Light...”

“For fuck’s sake! Will you shut your hole?” The Hound bellowed.

The room went silent, giving Clegane the chance to go on. “Are we coming with you or not?”

“Don’t you want to know what we’re doing?” Ser Jorah asked tentatively. They hadn’t told them anything about hunting a white walker yet.

“Is it worse than sitting in a freezing cell waiting to die,” Thoros replied, bemused.

“He’s right,” Jon said. As many problems as this group appeared to have with one another, there was one simple truth to the matter at hand. “We’re all on the same side.”

Gendry did not like that answer. “How can we be?” he argued. If he were in Jon’s shoes, Gendry would leave the three of them in that cell forever.

“We’re all breathing,” Jon declared. He reached out his hand, and Tormund gave him the key.

And that, as much as Gendry wanted to keep arguing, was the end of it.

~

The Hound said he saw a vision of a large, dead army walking near an arrow-shaped mountain. Tormund knew it immediately, and the group set off in that direction.

About an hour into their hike, Gendry found himself at the front of the pack. He was still fuming about being with the Brotherhood again. All the anger he’d once felt towards them for betraying him, for selling him to the Baratheon’s, came bubbling back up to the surface. He desperately wanted to yell at them, but he couldn’t. Not now. So he walked quickly and forcefully across the frozen northlands.

Jon and Tormund were at his side, and they could tell something was wrong.

“You alright,” Jon asked, but Gendry didn’t answer. He wasn’t ready to talk about it yet.

Tormund tried next. “Ever been North before?”

Hoping this line of questioning would be less painful, Gendry answered, “Never seen snow before.”

“Beautiful, eh?” Tormund went on. “I can breathe again. Down south, the air smells like pig shit.”

“You’ve never been down south,” Jon shot back.

“I’ve been to Winterfell.”

“That’s the North.”

“Pffff.” Tormund huffed, clearly disagreeing with his friend.

“How do you live up here?” Gendry asked, genuinely concerned. There were no villages, no farms, not a single place where it looked like crops might grow. It was all mountains and snow. How do people survive like this? And more than that, Gendry wondered, “How do you keep your balls from freezing off?”

“You’ve got to keep moving. That’s the secret,” Tormund explained. “Walking’s good. Fighting’s better. Fucking’s best.”

“There’s not a living woman within a hundred miles of here,” Jon chided him.

“We have to make do with what we’ve got,” Tormund said, looking straight at Gendry. The blacksmith wasn’t so sure he liked the Wildling anymore.

Gendry fell back a bit to put some distance between himself and the crazy ginger. But that was no good either. A few paces back were the three people he disliked most on this trip: Thoros, Beric and The Hound. Gendry tried his best to ignore them, but they certainly weren’t ignoring him.

Twenty minutes later, Thoros closed the distance between them and asked, “You still mad at us, boy?”

“You sold me to a witch,” Gendry said as calmly as he could.

“A priestess,” Thoros corrected him. “I’ll admit, it is a subtle distinction.”

“We’re fighting a great war,” Beric added. “Wars cost money.”

“I wanted to be one of you,” Gendry said, struggling not to yell. “I wanted to join the Brotherhood, but you sold me off like a slave. Do you know what she did to me? She strapped me down on the bed, she stripped me naked...”

“Sounds alright so far,” The Hound interrupted.

“And put leeches on me.”

“Was she naked too?” The Hound asked, but the others all ignored him.

“She needed your blood,” Thoros explained.

“Yes, thank you! I know that!” Gendry finally lost it.

“Could ‘a been worse,” The Hound hummed back at him.

“She wanted to kill me! And they would’ve killed me if it wasn’t for Davos…”

“But they didn’t, did they? So what are you winging about?”

“I’m not winging!”

“Your lips are moving, and you’re complaining about something. That’s winging.” The Hound pointed towards Beric and said, “This one’s been killed six times. You don’t hear him bitching about it.”

The Hound and Beric walked on while Gendry stayed back for a moment, stunned. He knew Beric had been killed and brought back. He’d seen it once before with his own eyes. But to die six times? That just couldn’t be right.

Thoros stayed with Gendry and offered him a swig of his drink. “Good lad,” the old priest said when Gendry handed the flask back. It was a nice gesture until the old coot left to catch up with his friends, intentionally running into Gendry’s shoulder as he went.

~

A few hours later, the winds had picked up substantially. Settled snow was now being picked up and thrown about by the wind. And even more snow was falling and mixing in.

One of Jon’s men was ahead of everyone else checking the terrain for thin ice or anything else that could be an issue to the rest of the group. Jon’s man stopped suddenly, and the rest of the crew followed suit. He was looking at something in the distance.

“A bear,” The Hound said, pointing at a splotch on the horizon.

Bears were a northern species. But even having never seen one before, Gendry knew something was off about this one. He’d never seen an animal before that had glowing eyes. When he asked about it, nobody answered.

That was answer enough.

Jon’s man turned and ran back towards the group. The bear noticed immediately and gave chase.

The animal was fast, uncommonly so. It felt like a second later and it was right in front of them, ripping Jon’s man to shreds before disappearing into the storm. The rest of the party formed a circle, every man facing outward so they would be prepared no matter which direction the animal decided to strike from next.

It was quiet, but then the bear suddenly hit someone on the opposite side of the circle from Gendry, throwing another one of Jon’s men up into the air.

The circle broke, each man reacting differently. Jon retaliated first, whacking at the bear with Longclaw. That did nothing but anger the beast. It swiped at him, and hit him in the chest, throwing Jon back several feet.

Thoros and Beric set their swords alight and ran at the animal next. The two men swung their swords at the bear, but none of their blows seemed to slow it down. All they managed to do was set the creature’s fur on fire.

The bear roared, and everyone stepped back. It turned towards The Hound, who froze at the sight of flames engulfing the animals’ back. The beast charged at him, but Clegane did not move. Thoros was still nearby, so he instinctively jumped in front of his comrade. The bear knocked the old priest onto his back in an instant. Thoros put up his blade, using it as a thin shield between him and the animal’s teeth.

Tormund stepped in and attempted to save the man. He hit the bear with his axe, but was also knocked out of the way. The creature took this opportunity to lash at Thoros again. This time, it found a way around Thoros’ blade and hit flesh, sinking its teeth into the old man’s chest. The bear shook Thoros from side to side, like most predators do when trying to kill.

Ser Jorah came up next, obsidian dagger in hand, and stabbed the beast in the top of its skull. This blow finally had an effect. The bear released Thoros and staggered away in agony. It collapsed several feet away, eyes finally going dark.

Despite Gendry’s earlier anger at the Brotherhood, he and Beric ran towards Thoros. They each grabbed one of his shoulders and dragged him away. Several of their fellow travelers stood between them and the bear, just in case the animal decided to reanimate once more.

Gendry set his hammer down. Thoros was alive, but in serious pain. They needed to know how badly he was hurt, so the blacksmith undid some of the priest’s furs. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Thoros had deep puncture marks across his torso and was bleeding heavily.

“We have to get him back to Eastwatch,” Ser Jorah said, but Thoros disagreed. He asked for his flask, which he nearly emptied when he had it in hand. Beric took his blade, set alight again, and used it to cauterize the wounds.

“You alright?” Beric asked him when the job was done.

“I just got bit by a dead bear,” Thoros spat back.

“Aye. You did.” Beric smile at his fiend. And for some reason, that was all it took to calm him down.

“Funny old life.” Thoros smiled back. “Right then,” he said, and Gendry and Beric helped him up.

~

At the foot of the arrow shaped mountain, Tormund stopped the group. There were noises up ahead. He and Jon peered over a nearby ridge and saw a small group of wights walking along the path below. The dead men were being corralled by a single white walker, and they were heading right towards them.

The hunting party circled back and took cover while the wights finished their approach. When they were near enough, the men jumped out and attacked. It was a quick skirmish with no injuries. Jon struck the white walker, their leader, with Longclaw, and the rest of the wights fell apart. All except one.

Tormund attempted to knock out the last remaining wight, but he only managed to knock it over. The Hound jumped on it next, trying to keep it still. The wight continued to resist. It screamed and shrieked so loudly that the men feared it gave away their position to any other undead thing nearby.

And sure enough, it did. Behind them, a growing roar started. It was surely Night King’s army. Just by the sound, it was clear they were vastly outnumbered. They needed help. Fast.

Without waiting a second longer, Jon turned to Gendry. “Run back to Eastwatch. Get a raven to Daenerys. Tell her what’s happened.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Gendry shook his head.

“You’re the fastest. Go! Now!”

Gendry turned, about to start running, when Tormund grabbed hold of the weapon in his hand.

“You’re faster without the hammer,” the Wildling said. And though Gendry didn’t want to leave it behind, he did.


	2. Chapter 2

Running back to Eastwatch was miserable. The air stung his lungs. His legs both froze and burned at the same time. His face a block of ice. Tears seeped out the corner of his eyes as he ran, forming into tiny icicles if he didn’t wipe them away fast enough.

Gendry had not run, truly run, since he was a child playing with the other kids in Flea Bottom. And even then, he’d never run in the freezing cold, on snow and ice, racing for his life before.

He lost his footing more than a handful of times, but he always got back up as fast as possible. Every second he wasted, his comrades could be one step closer to death. Their lives literally depended on him.

He couldn’t slow down. He couldn’t even look back for fear of the time that would waste. No matter what was back there, he had to keep moving. He was unarmed except for the small dagger Jon gave him. A dagger he hardly used yet. He likely wouldn’t be able to defend himself properly if a wight attacked.

It had originally taken the group a good part of the day to reach the arrow-shaped mountain, but Gendry managed to run back just before the sun set that same day. He was nearly at the Wall when his legs gave out. But fortunately, the lookouts on the Wall must have seen him coming.

Davos was next to him a moment later. Gendry managed to tell him they needed to send a raven to Danaerys before two Wildings hoisted him to his feet and dragged him inside.

The Wildlings carried him to the hearth in the great room where they’d met with Tormund earlier that day. They threw a chair in front of the fire and sat Gendry down in it. Davos rushed in a few seconds later carrying an armload of furs. He ordered tea be brought up immediately.

While the Wildlings scurried about, the old man helped Gendry out of his sodden clothes, and laid new furs around him. Though exhausted, Gendry then kicked off his shoes and stretched his feet towards the flames. He laid his socks out on the edge of the hearth, watching small whiffs of steam rise off them as they dried.

It took time, and a lot of tea, but Gendry did begin feeling better. Around breakfast the next day, he was able to stand and pace about some. He wanted to go back out there to help his comrades, but he knew that was a fool’s errand. Nobody knew where they would be by now. And there weren’t enough men at Eastwatch to go scouring the North for them. Davos wouldn’t let him go anyway, not in his condition. The old man said he’d just have to be content to wait.

~

Days passed since they sent a raven to Dragonstone begging the Queen Danaerys to come to their rescue. Gendry hated waiting. The guilt at leaving them was starting to gnaw at him. What if they all died out there? He might never be able to forgive himself. Gendry paced back and forth to the point that Davos made him sit down lest he wear a hole straight through the floorboards of the keep.

Relief is not a strong enough word to describe what Gendry felt seeing three dragons flying north.

It wouldn’t be long now.

Davos instructed the Greyjoy ship be prepared in case they needed to make a speedy departure south. Who knew how far behind them the Night King’s army would be.

The hunting party returned a few hours later, riding on the backs of Danery’s dragons. They landed on the beach just south of the Wall. Gendry, Davos and several of Tormund’s men ran out to meet them as soon as they saw the dragons descend.

Instead of joy or relief at making their return, everyone looked horrible. And their moods were no better. Tormund returned Gendry’s hammer by practically throwing the damn thing at him. The Wilding took a breath when he realized this, then turned to Davos and explained what happened.

While they had managed to capture a wight, Thoros and one of the Queen’s three dragons were dead. And to make matters worse, Jon had fallen through thin ice fighting off a pack of wights so the rest of the group could escape. They looked, but nobody saw him come resurfaced. Even if he had survived the freezing water, he’d have been surrounded as soon as he made it out. The men of the group all said he was certainly dead by now.

The Dragon Queen, at least, hadn’t given up hope. She took the lift to the top of the Wall at once and waited there for hours scanning the horizon.

When the ship was packed and ready to set sail, Ser Jorah went up to collect her. A few minutes later, a horn sounded. The words were muddled from down below, but Gendry was almost certain he heard someone say a rider was approaching. The gates opened a moment later and a horse walked in, a lump of dark furs balanced precariously on its back.

Jon.

Gendry ran to him, Tormund and Davos followed right behind him.

Jon was unconscious and barely breathing. His skin was so pale he almost looked blue. Jon needed dry clothes and a warm fire, just as he had earlier in the week.

“We need to get him inside,” Gendry said.

“No, there isn’t time,” Davos replied. “We’ll have to tend to him on the ship. Quick, we need to get him to the beach.”

Tormund nodded. He grabbed the horse’s reins and led it through the castle courtyard, down the path to the beach and right up to the edge of the skiff. Working together, the three men managed to get Jon into the boat. Queen Danerys and Ser Jorah joined them with the rest of their men as soon as the King was settled.

“You have everything you need,” Tormund asked to nobody in particular.

“We do now,” Davos said looking down at his charge.

“Best be on your way, then,” Tormund replied. “Safe travels.”

“Aye.” Davos nodded. It was as close to a thank you as the old smuggler could manager for the Wildling. Daenerys and the rest of the men took up positions around the edge of the skiff.

Davos turned to Gendry quickly and said, “I’ll see you again soon, lad.”

“Take care of yourself, old man,” Gendry said back. This would not be the last time they met. He was sure of it.

“You too, lad.”

~

With the Greyjoy ship safely on its way to King's Landing, Gendry left Eastwatch. When Jon originally told him to go to Winterfell, Gendry expected to walk. He’d heard it would take him a few weeks on foot, and he was prepared to do it. He was about to leave when Tormund called him to the stable instead.

Gendry had very little experience with horses. The only time in his life where Gendry spent an extended amount of time around horses was on the way to the Wall with Yoren and as Melisandre's prisoner before arriving at Dragonstone. And even then, he had never really ridden.

This was the first time he would be riding. And as if that wasn’t challenge enough, he had to cross fifty leagues of unfamiliar, northern, snowy, muddy road on his own before he would arrive at Winterfell.

Gendry chose a grey mare about ten years old. Tormund explained the horse would get most of her food from grazing, but Gendry knew horses like oats and veggies as treats, so he packed some provisions in his saddle bag. Just enough for a few days.

It took Gendry most of the first day on the road to figure out how to get the animal to listen to his commands. The southerner originally thought all he needed to do was sit there and hold the reins. But he learned very quickly that wasn’t true.

It was like the horse could tell he was unsure of what to do, and she took full advantage. She attempted to wander off the road several times within the first few minutes of their journey. Gendry discovered he had to prove he was worth listening to, but he had no idea how. Horses were not like people. They couldn’t be reasoned with. Especially not this one. She had a mind of her own.

Gendry found he had to be firm with her, yelling at her or pulling sharply on the reins, to get her to comply. Gendry didn’t like it, but he had to get to Winterfell quickly. There was an army of dead things on the way and weapons needed to be made. He could not let this cause him any delays.

Gendry camped just off the road every night. He would secure the horse’s reins to a nearby tree and build a fire for them to share. He would remove her tack and rub her down with a few fist fulls of grass or fallen leaves, whichever he could find. He gave her a treat from his saddle bag and covered her in a blanket, making sure she was as comfortable possible.

Gendry was no great hunter, but he had a good mind for snares. He set traps before tucking in for the night, and every morning he would wake to find something caught in at least one of them. When the animal was dispatched, he would build a new fire to cook his morning meal. He let the fire burn all morning as he broke down camp and prepared to move on.

Despite his early struggles, he made good time. He rode as long and hard as he could. A weeks-long journey took him just less than five full days. A large part of this Gendry attributed to being a single man on the road. He did not linger at any camp long, and he carried few belongings, which made setting up and breaking down very quick.

He found Winterfell quite easily. The road led him straight there. The castle sat on top of a hill, making it visible from miles around. Tall and grey, it was the only structure he’d seen in the North that could even remotely be considered worthy of hosting kings.

There was a large, stone wall surrounding the castle. He spotted a gate on its western side, and a path that led straight to it. Gendry decided that would be his point of entry.

He rode most of the way up the hill, but dismounted just in front of the gate. Two goons stopped him there. One was thin, the other plump. Neither looked particularly welcoming.

“Who are you,” the larger man asked. He wore a helmet that was much too small for his head. Gendry saw exactly what Jon meant about needing more blacksmiths in the North, but there was no need to draw attention to that right now.

“I’m here to see the Lady of Winterfell” he said. “I’m a blacksmith. I’ve come for work. I have a letter of recommendation.” Gendry raised his hand and revealed the parchment with Jon’s seal on it.

The guards exchanged looks. They were sure to recognize the wolf sigil on the scroll, but Gendry wasn’t sure if they knew it meant Jon was really the one who sent him.

“Come with me,” the thin guard said, leading Gendry inside. He showed him a post near a trough where Gendry tied up his horse. When that was done, the guard pointed at a broken wagon and told Gendry to have a seat. “Stay here while I go speak with Lady Sansa,” he said.

The larger man stayed by the gate, but he now stood side-face to watch both Gendry and the road simultaneously. Gendry obliged and sat on the back of the wagon. While he waited, he took a moment to look around.

Winterfell felt so much taller now that he was inside. It was made almost entirely of stone with lean-to’s jutting out wherever there was space. Small courtyards led into one another with walkways cross-crossing over head. Despite the snow, there was something warm and inviting about this place.

The longer he waited, the more his thoughts turned from the buildings to the people who lived there. The Starks.

He thought of Jon, hoping his new friend regained consciousness by now. Gendry wondered how close they were to King’s Landing, or if the journey south took longer than the one going north. He thought about what Lady Sansa would be like. All Arya ever said about her was that she was a lady. But Gendry knew if Jon left her in charge, she must be quite capable.

Of all the Starks, though, Gendry thought about Arya the most. He knew she was here somewhere. What would she be like now after all this time had passed? Would he ever recognize her? Would she recognize him? Surely, he would find out soon.

~

Arya leaned against the stone wall in one of Winterfell’s central corridors. She peered out to the courtyard below and froze for a moment, thinking she was looking at a ghost. He was down there, sitting on the same wagon she’d waited on when she first arrived. Arya remembered him best in southern clothes with long hair that fell into his eyes. His hair was shorter now, and he was dressed like a Wildling, but she would have known him anywhere.

You don’t easily forget the ones you want to call family.

Her breath caught in her throat. This couldn’t be real, could it? Maybe she needed to splash some cold water on her face to bring her back to her senses.

She obscured her body as much as possible while still maintaining a clear line of sight. It was a habit more than a necessity. The chances of him seeing her in her perch from so far away were next to zero, especially when there were so many other things to catch his eye down below.

The thin guard Arya had duped on her first day home approached him. They exchanged words briefly before Gendry stood and they walked together towards the far end of the courtyard. Arya couldn’t hear them, but she understood Gendry was to meet someone, and the guard showing him the way.

Arya wondered who Gendry could possibly be in Winterfell to see. When they first knew one another, he had no connections in the North. He only knew the name Stark because her father had served as Hand of the King. Had something changed? It wasn’t impossible. Many things had changed during the years they’d been apart.

Whatever was going on, she felt determined to find out.

Arya flew down the hall after them. She jumped a few stairs and made several turns before the two men came into view once more.

She stopped when she saw them. She waited a moment, allowing them to take a few steps so that there might be a gap between them, and then she began to follow again. She kept a safe distance between herself and her target, and she stayed close to a wall in case she needed to flatten herself against it to avoid being seen.

~

The guard led Gendry deeper into the castle, round so many twists and turns, the smith wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to find his way back out again. Winterfell was like a maze after it had been added to so many times over the centuries.

They eventually arrived at a large wooden door, which opened into an opulent bedroom. Four poster bed with curtains hung around the top. Fireplace crackling on the opposite wall. Furs everywhere. Gendry’s stomach sank. It reminded him of the room where Melisandre seduced him in the first time he’d been to Dragonstone, and he really didn’t fancy going through all that again anytime soon.

Despite his unease, Gendry followed the guard inside. There was a young woman sitting at a desk on the opposite end of the room. She was half obscured by a large stack of paper, and she was incredibly focused on the page she was reading.

The guard walked across the room and introduced her as Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell.

Gendry had to hide his surprise.

Firstly, she was young. Definitely a few years younger than he and Jon. But more than that, Gendry could plainly see her long red hair and bright blue eyes. She looked so different from the other Starks he’d met. He expected her to have dark hair and brown eyes. That was how Jon looked. That was how he remembered Arya. He wondered if any of the other Starks had fair features like her.

With a wave of her hand, Sansa dismissed the guard.

Arya, who unbeknownst to everyone else, had been standing just outside the door, took this opportunity to slip into the room unnoticed. It wasn’t hard to do. Not for her.

Sansa taking their parent’s chambers left certain advantages for Arya. She used to play in this room as a child. She knew all the best hiding places. She could even still fit into some of them. She found a dark alcove near the fireplace, careful to stand behind Gendry, while still out of view of her sister.

“My guards tell me you’ve come looking for work as a blacksmith?” Sansa announced; her eyes still focused on her letters. She pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and furiously scribbled something with a quill she had nearby.

“Yes, Milady,” Gendry said politely.

“You have experience?”

“Yes, Milady. I’ve worked as a smith in King’s Landing for more than ten years, now. I have a letter of recommendation,” he said lifting the scroll so that she could see.

Sansa finished her writing and beaconed him forward. He gave her Jon’s letter with a small, deferential bow. She turned the letter over in her hand. With one look at the seal, her eyes shot back up to him, shock clear on her face. She knew who had written that letter. “What did you say your name is, again?”

“Gendry,” he said.

“Gendry Waters,” Arya clarified, stepping forward from her hiding place.

Sansa jumped and let out a huff. She clearly hated being surprised like that. Either Arya didn’t notice or she didn’t care. Gendry didn’t know which it was, but both were entirely likely.

“Milady,” he said quietly. He bowed as she walked around him to stand by her sister.

She was a little taller now. The top of her head came up to the bridge of his nose. And her hair had grown out just enough to reach her shoulders. Otherwise, she looked exactly how he remembered.

“You two know one another?” Sansa asked, still upset about being surprised.

“Yes, Milady. We travelled together some years back,” he explained.

“What are you doing here?” Arya asked.

“Why do you have a letter with Jon’s seal on it,” Sansa chimed in.

“How did you escape the red witch?” Arya added.

“It’s a very long story,” he began. He told them everything as briefly he could. He told them about discovering he was Robert Baratheon’s bastard. How Ser Davos had helped him escape Dragonstone, and he’d gone back to Flea Bottom. He told them about meeting Jon, and becoming his ally. How Jon and Ser Davos both wanted him to come make weapons for the war.

“We unloaded crates of Dragonglass in White Harbor a fortnight ago,” Gendry said.

Sansa interrupted him there. “Yes, we know. It arrived here yesterday. Samwell Tarly, one of the men who served with Jon at the Wall, arrived shortly before. He’s been working with our men to create weapons. Arya, if you could introduce Gendry to Sam, I’ll see about finding some accommodations for our new guest.”

Gendry bowed. “Thank you, Milady.”


	3. Chapter 3

Arya knew it was nearly supper time, and Sam would likely be in the Great Hall with Gilly and Little Sam. She led Gendry back the way the guards had brought him in, doing her best to avoid eye contact with as many people as possible along the way.

Winterfell was so crowded now. People came from all over the North, some even came from the South, to pledge their allegiance to the King in the North, and receive the protection that allegiance provided. Winter was here, and who would protect them better than their King?

Arya understood; it was the way things were done. But she didn’t like it. She was fine with the political aspect of it, help thy people and all, but it was starting to get awkward.

She didn’t know these people, but they all knew her. Or at least, they knew her story. The younger of Ned Stark’s two daughters, once thought to be dead, had now returned home.

Everyone seemed to think she would be just like her sister, or like her mother. But she was more like the men in her family. A few days ago, she had executed Petyr Baelish. Not everyone in Winterfell knew the correct reason why, just that she had been the one to slit his throat. And now everyone was gawking and giving her a wide berth. Even more so than usual.

Arya desperately hoped it would stop soon. The whispers and stares were really becoming too much. She spent nearly all her formative years attempting to blend in. First, she was Arry the orphan boy, then a nameless northern girl working as Tywin Lannister’s cupbearer. Then she was just as an average, insignificant young lady, moving among the masses of Braavos.

She preferred life like that. Quiet. Inconspicuous. She loved the freedom that anonymity provided. To be one place when you want and gone the next, leaving nobody the wiser. She had no idea how Sansa managed to be Lady of Winterfell, with all eyes on her, day in and day out.

In truth, leading Gendry around the castle made Arya nervous. Very nervous. The longer they were together like this, the more her chest began to ache. Arya learned at a young age that panicking in the face of danger would get you killed. So she studied how to stay calm even in the most rigorous scenarios. And she was quite good at it, too. But then Gendry showed up, and she immediately started forgetting her lessons.

Gendry had just shared most of his personal history with her and Sansa, but Arya just stood there like a statue as he spoke. Silent and unmoving no matter how she felt inside.

Before she delivered Gendry to his final destination, she had to talk to him, one-on-one, like they used to. But she didn’t want anyone over-hearing them. Arya knew she would need to find a quiet place, out of the way, preferably one they could slip into without being seen, or else the gossip mongers would be singing her name again before the night was out.

As they drew closer to the Great Hall, Arya remembered a place that might fit the bill. There was a hallway of store rooms that was almost always empty near suppertime. Abruptly, Arya redirected them. She made a swift turn to the building immediately to her right. When she rounded the last corner, she was relieved to find that there wasn’t a soul in sight.

Arya chose a door about halfway down and walked in. Gendry stopped outside, confused. Without turning to face him, Arya commanded, “Come in and close the door.”

Though still confused, Gendry obeyed.

When Arya heard the door latch, she turned and said, “We don’t have long.”

Before he could respond, she ran straight into his arms. She almost knocked him over, but he didn't mind. He wrapped his arms around her, instantly hugging her back. She rested her head against his shoulder and let out a deep sigh of relief. She matched her breathing to his, which helped her adrenaline fade.

“Milady,” she heard him whisper.

Arya wanted to laugh. “I wasn’t a Lady when we first met. I’m even less of one now.”

“You will always be Milady to me.”

“You’re still an idiot.” She smiled into his chest. Gendry couldn’t help but laugh in return. She hadn’t changed much, had she?

“I should start calling you Milord,” she teased. “Or Lord Baratheon.”

“Don’t do that,” he grumbled. “I’m still just a bastard.”

This was nice. Being together again like this. It was far better than some of the scenarios they’d imagined. Both of them wanted to stay in this moment, but time didn’t work like that. Arya was right when she said they wouldn’t have long, and Gendry felt determined to get as much information out of her as he could in the time they had left.

“What happened to you after the Brotherhood?” Gendry asked.

“I ran away,” she said. “Tried to get back to my family. I made it to the Twins just in time for the Red Wedding.” Gendry’s mouth fell open. Even from halfway across the country, he’d heard what happened. He knew her mother and brother had been butchered by the Freys. Their bodies mutilated and put on display. The thought of little Arry being anywhere near that carnage almost made him ill.

“I tried to fight my way in, but I couldn’t. So I left. Travelled around for a bit, but eventually I went east. I found a ship that took me to Braavos.” Arya left out the part about the Hound and Brienne of Tarth. Too many details weren’t necessary right now.

Braavos was a strange place to go for a young Westerosi girl, anyway, especially one who had no connections there. But then Gendry remembered someone. The faceless man who’d helped them escape Harenahall.

“You went looking for Jaqen?” Gendry asked.

“And I found him.”

“You lived with him?” There was a twinge of jealousy in his voice. Is that what she’d done when they’d been separated? She went looking for another, older man to protect her?

He knew he shouldn't be jealous. She had been a child. A small child whose family was being killed off by people who were supposed to be their allies. She would have needed protection.

“I lived in a temple, a place called The House of Black and White,” she explained. “And yes, Jaqen was there. As were other worshipers of the Many-Faced God.”

Something about her answer only made Gendry feel worse. Hoping to change the subject, Gendry stepped back to get a better look at her. She appeared strong and capable with a blade on each hip. Gendry saw a long sword on her side and immediately felt a sense of deja vu.

“Is that the same sword you had before?” he asked.

“It is.”

“I thought it was stolen when we were ambushed on the King’s Road.”

“It was.”

“How did you get it back?”

“I found the man who took it from me, and I took it back.”

Gendry noticed a dangerous glint in her eyes. She had killed that man. There was no doubt about it in his mind. But Gendry couldn’t judge. His hands weren’t clean either. He’d killed two men in the last few weeks alone. Besides, he wasn’t entirely surprised. He always knew she had the capacity to take a life. Hell, he’d had to stop her from killing before.

He gestured towards her other hip. “And now you something new?”

Arya grabbed the handle of Catspaw and flipped it over in her hand a few times, showing off her skills just as she had for Lady Brienne.

“It was a gift,” she said as she passed him the blade.

He weighed the piece in his hand. “A very nice gift,” he mused. “You know this is Valyrian steel, don’t you?”

Even with all the adornments on the handle, it was perfectly balanced. “It’s gorgeous,” he found himself saying out loud. These were the kinds of weapons smith's dreamed of making. But those jobs were rare. Few rich men wanted such elaborate pieces. Even fewer came to Flea Bottom to have one made.

Gendry gave the dagger back to her. A moment of silence passed between them, and Aya decided it was time he answered some of her questions as well.

“What are you really doing here?” Last time they were together, she thought that they would stay together, that he would come with her to Riverrun or Winterfell, wherever her family was at the time. But then he had changed his mind. He decided he wanted to join the Brotherhood Without Banners, that he wanted nothing to do with highborn families.

Now he appeared, years later, a bastard Baratheon, claiming allegiance to the King in the North? A lot must have changed.

“What do you mean?” Gendry asked.

“You’ve really come all this way to make weapons and fight?”

“Yes, I have.”

“And you really intend to stay when the Night King comes?” She had to be sure. Arya shut herself from the outside world during her time abroad. There were so few people she was close to now. A hug was one thing, but she couldn’t allow herself to even consider becoming attached to him again if there was a chance he might leave.

“Yes, I will be here when the fight comes. I’ve sworn to serve, and I will do so.”

“Even if it means your life?” She asked evenly, though the words tasted sour coming from her mouth.

“There is no greater cause worth dying for.”

Arya reached out and placed her hand on his arm. He was telling the truth; she was sure of it.

In that moment, Arya felt compelled to lean up and kiss him. Her eyes affixed themselves to his lips, but she hesitated. Her attention must have made Gendry uncomfortable because without warning, he moved away from her. He stepped further into the store room, leaving Arya alone by the door. He took a deep breath and said, “Arya,” in a way that sounded like a warning.

Arya blinked rapidly, breaking her trance. She felt silly. He could be married with a family by now for all she knew. She wouldn’t be surprised if he’d found someone. He was a handsome, strong tradesman who’d make a good husband for any lucky girl.

In her heart of hearts, Arya knew he probably never thought of her like that, anyway. She had been so young when they were together last. Some helpless girl he felt obliged to protect. It would be perfectly normal if he hadn’t thought of her as anything more, not when there were other women his own age, with more experience, to choose from.

Arya debated saying something to clear the air, but she didn’t have a chance. There was suddenly a knock at the door, and she knew their time was up.

“Aya,” a man’s voice called.

The young Stark turned and opened the door. Gendry was shocked at her nonchalance. How could she let someone see her in a glorified cupboard with a stranger? He would have tried to stop her, or at least he would have tried to hide, but she was too fast for him.

On the other side of the door sat a young man in a chair with wheels attached to each side. He had dark hair and dark eyes, with a blank expression on his face. Gendry knew immediately he was Arya’s kin.

“Gendry, this is my brother, Brandon Stark,” she said.

“Milord,” Gendry bowed. This was not the first impression he’d imagined making with anyone in her family, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

“I’m not a lord,” Bran replied. “I am the three-eyed raven.”

“The what?” Gendry gave him another once-over. He certainly looked human. And being a member of the Stark family definitely made him a lord. How could he possibly be a raven as well?

“He’s a seer. He has visions.” Arya clarified. “I’m guessing that’s how you knew I was in here?” she asked her brother.

Bran didn’t reply to this directly. Instead, he said, “Sansa’s looking for you. For both of you. She’s in the Great Hall.”

Gendry and Arya exchanged looks, and then moved out into the corridor. Arya turned Bran’s chair and began pushing him down the hall. Gendry followed shortly behind them.

“I’m a little concerned you were able to sneak up on me,” Arya admitted.

“Wheels help. They’re quieter than footsteps.”

“Still. The Waif would have beaten me senseless for not noticing.”

“You were distracted,” Bran said looking back to Gendry. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell.”

There was something strange about this Stark. When he looked at you, it was like he looked through you. And Gendry still didn’t understand all this business about ravens. He couldn’t help but wonder aloud, “If you are brother and sister, how are you not a lord?”

“I cannot be both the three-eyed raven and Lord of Winterfell.”

None of this made any sense. “So, you made a choice?”

“The choice was made for me many years ago.”

~

Arya found Sam sitting at one of the long tables with Gilly and Little Sam, just as she expected. Sansa stood in the corner of the room speaking with the Maester, whom dismissed as soon as her siblings entered the room.

Arya noticed, but did not change course. She wheeled her brother over to Sam’s table, Gendry close on her heels.

Sam stood when he saw them approach and gave a small bow. Gilly gave a nod from her seat as Little Sam continued pushing food around his plate, who in turn, ignored everyone beyond his mother’s lap.

“Gendry, this is Sam,” Arya introduced him.

Sam was a large man with an innocent face. He didn’t look like much of a ranger, but neither did most of the boys Gendry met while travelling with Yoren. Perhaps he had a different role in the Night’s Watch? Gendry didn’t know.

“Gendry’s just arrived from Eastwatch,” Bran added. “Jon’s sent him here to make weapons from dragonglass.”

Gendry had to keep his eyes from bulging out. Bran really must be a seer if he knew that already. Gendry hadn’t told anyone about that other than Sansa and Arya. And neither one of them should have had time to say anything to him about it by now.

“Really?!” Sam asked. “I have a blade you can use as a reference, though it’s not with me now.”

Gendry pulled the one from his belt. “Is it like this one?”

Sam took it and nodded vigorously. He knew it at a glance. It was a twin to the one he carried. “Handy little things, aren’t they,” Sam asked.

“Aye,” Gendry said remembering how effective it has been against the dead bear. “I don’t think these blades are going to be much use for soldiers, though. They’re used to fighting with long swords, not daggers. You can’t hand them one of these and expect them to be good at fighting with it straight away.”

Arya ordinarily would have loved to stay and discuss weaponry, but she knew Sansa was eyeing them from across the room. So she dismissed herself politely and walked over to her sister.

“Giving our new guest a tour of the grounds,” Sansa asked in her obnoxiously knowing way. “He’ll need to be watched,” she went on before Arya could come up with something clever to say.

“Why?”

“He claims to be Robert’s bastard. How do we know that’s true and not just some elaborate lie? And if it is true, how can we be sure his allegiance is truly with Jon, and not with our enemies?”

“Our enemies?” Arya returned to her monotone, matter-of-fact way of speaking.

“Think about it. Bastards want to be legitimized more than anything. Cersei could give him that. Robert. Stannis. Renly. They’re all dead. Gendry is the last Baratheon. If Cersei legitimized him, not only would he get his father’s name, he would get all their land and titles. He could even be added to the line of succession for the Iron Throne.”

When the three of them spoke earlier, they hadn’t even spoken about anything beyond the war, and now Sansa worried about something they might not live to see. Arya wanted to tell her sister she’s become paranoid from spending so much time with Little Finger.

Gendry hated the Lannisters as much as any Stark. He’d never go to them for anything. Arya believed his story, especially after she’d just pressed him on it a few minutes ago.

“His intentions are genuine,” Arya told her sister.

“And you can be sure of this after just one meeting?”

“Two,” Arya thought to herself.

“Humor me. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen one another, am I right?” Sansa asked. “People change. Allegiances change. Just look at Little Finger. He made any alliance he could, no matter how terrible, if it would advance his position.”

“Gendry’s not like that. Never has been.”

“That doesn’t mean he isn’t like that now.”

“Should I ask Bran to look into his past?” Arya suggested, hoping to appease her sister. The peace between them was still so new. She didn't want to ruin it over this.

“No, we need Bran focused on the Night King. I don’t want him making any moves without us knowing.”

“What do you want to do, then?”

“You knew who he was. Now you need to find out who he is.”

With that, Sansa strode across the room to the table where Gendry and the others were discussing various methods of metal-working. Arya stayed behind, choosing to fall into the shadows so she could observe Sansa’s next move from afar. She didn’t want to go out there, anyway, while she was still processing their conversation.

“Gendry,” Sansa called. “There is a cot in the forge which you are more than welcome to use.”

“Thank you, Milady.” He bowed his head to Sansa and she gave a small nod in return. It was no feather bed, but it was a big improvement over his norm.

Then the Lady left without another word, wheeling her brother away as she went.

Gendry looked around for the third Stark sibling, but she was nowhere to be seen. He’d been so engrossed in his conversation with Sam, he lost track of where she’d gone.

“It’s time to put this one to bed,” Gilly said as moved Little Sam from her lap. She then stood from the bench and took her son’s hand so that she could lead him to the door. “Nice meeting you, Gendry,” she called as they started walking away.

“Right,” Sam said before Gendry could respond. “Best get to it, then. I’ll show you the way.”

Sam led Gendry outside to an open-air workshop, much like the one he’d just left behind in Flea Bottom. There were a half dozen men there working. Gendry figured he’d introduce himself after finishing up with Sam.

“I’m afraid you’ll have your work cut out for you,” Sam said suddenly. “There’s quite a lot to do before Jon gets back.”

“Jon’s alive?”

“Of course he’s alive.” Sam wore a mixture of worry and confusion on his face. “Why wouldn’t he be?”

“He wasn’t doing so well when I left Eastwatch. He’d fallen through some ice north of the Wall. I wasn’t sure he’d make it…”

“Well, Bran checked in on him earlier today. It’s something he does for all his siblings, really. He told me that the ship just docked in White Harbor. They’re due in King’s Landing in a few days. Then they’ll have about a two-week journey back after meeting with Queen Cersei.”

“Why would Bran tell you all that?”

“Oh, we talk about most of the things he sees. I’m writing them down, for posterity, you see. Can you imagine having access to all the world’s history and all you need to do is look? Imagine the things we could learn. All the history that’s been lost over the years. The things that nobody ever wrote down, or that someone did write down, but that was lost over time.”

“Like how to make weapons out of dragonglass?”

“It’s possible. I could ask Bran to look into it.”

“Please. Making thousands of weapons in three weeks is going to be near impossible if we don’t know what we’re doing.”


	4. Chapter 4

Three days of nonstop labor had Gendry ready to scream. Make weapons out of dragonglass, Jon had said. Sure! Like that was so easy!

Gendry tried to incorporate obsidian into his metal work at least a dozen times over the last few days, and every time he struggled with some new kind of challenge.

First he couldn’t figure out how to melt it down like he would with iron or steel. He struggled getting the fires hot enough. The obsidian didn’t melt completely with a normal fire, and there were still chunks left in the mix.

Once Gendry figured that out, he had a horrible time getting the molten obsidian to pour into a sword mold. Then he couldn’t get it out of the mold without it breaking. And when he finally managed that about an hour ago, the sword was too fragile to be sharpened. The slightest pressure against the wheel and the whole thing just fell apart.

Gendry knew he was making progress, but he hadn’t yet made a single weapon successfully out of dragonglass. He needed to find a way to make something strong and reliable out of these these rocks. And soon. With an army of the dead on the way, time was not on their side.

Samwell joined him in the smithy that afternoon to help think of things they could try. The two men were an odd, but efficient, match. Sam with his history books and access to Bran, Gendry with his experience as a blacksmith.

Gendry updated Sam on his failed attempt at making a longsword this morning. He finished by saying, “Apparently you can’t make anything long and thin or it’ll just break.”

“There are some larger weapons on staffs you could try,” Sam suggested. “Like your hammer, for instance.”

“Hammer that size’ll be too heavy for anyone to use.”

“What about a mace, or a flail?” Gendry looked at Sam with an expression that made Sam think he didn’t understand. So Sam went on, “It’s like a spear, but it has a big spiky ball and chain at the end. It’s smaller than a hammer. Should be lighter too.”

Gendry knew what a flail was. That wasn’t why he looked so bewildered. “You know anyone who can fight with one of those things?”

No. That kind of device was so rare, maybe one out of ten thousand knew how to use it.

Sam rambled on, undeterred. “What about keeping the weapons small, like the daggers we have from The First of the First Men?”

That was a thought, but it was one that Gendry had been avoiding. Swords and spears were ideal in battle because they allowed two opponents to stand further apart while fighting, giving them each a smaller chance of being struck. If swords weren’t going to work, he supposed he could try a spear.

Gendry rummaged around the forge and found a long, wooden pole leaning against one of the back walls. He cut a wedge out of one end, just wide enough to slip the handle of Sam’s blade into it, and he tied the joint together with a bit of rope. Normally, he’d secure the two pieces together with some kind of metal brace, but this would do for now.

When the weapon was assembled, Gendry swung the spear, testing it for stability. The dagger didn’t immediately break off and fly across the forge. That was a good start, at least.

“You like it?” Sam asked hopefully.

“Aye.” It wouldn’t be Gendry’s first choice to carry into battle. It was too light for him. But the obsidian was still sharp and deadly to a wight. “How many of these do you suppose we need?”

“Enough to arm the North, the Targaryen forces...and whoever else decides to join up. And we’ll still need daggers for close range. Oh, and we should probably have some arrowheads as well for the archers as well!”

Gendry wasn’t entirely sure how to quantify all that. There were dozens of trunks full of raw obsidian around the forge, all just waiting to be worked. Surely, no matter how many people came to their aid, they had enough material. Gendry just needed to know how to divide it.

“So…”

“I’ll ask Bran if he could give us an estimate on how many we’re expecting,” Sam said quickly before waddling away.

As Sam departed, Gendry noticed a group of children coming into the yard with weapons in their hands. And these were real, castle-forged swords they carried, not the wooden swords he expected to see in the hands of ones so young. It was a strange sight, to be sure. Certainly nothing he’d ever seen in King’s Landing before.

In spite of this, Gendry knew such goings on were really none of this business. He felt compelled to return to his work.

Gendry just barely made it back over to his station when a familiar figure came into view outside the forge.

Arya approached the group of children in the yard, and called them all to join her. She announced that she would be their instructor today. They would be learning water dancing, a phrase which made some of the boys groan. She ignored this and went on to say their goal was to become accustomed to the weight of a real sword in their hands, and determine how to use their size to their advantage in combat.

Gendry knew he shouldn’t watch Arya’s lessons, but the more she moved in front of the forge, the more she talked, the harder it was for him to keep his eyes on his work.

She started her student off slow. Showing them stances and having them mirror her. She instructed them to hold each position for fifteen seconds, which they did without question. She gave them five stances, which she modeled the first few rounds. After that, she had them strike the positions from memory while she walked through the group so she could correct them as necessary.

The longer they practiced, the more her students struggled to hold their blades mid-air for the allotted time. Arya saw, but didn’t change her lesson. Fighting was supposed to be tiring. And using muscles beyond your norm is key to building them.

When her students were no longer able to hold their weapons in the air without shaking, she had them rest and observe her instead. She went through the same stances again, only this time, she put them together. At this faster pace, everyone began to understand how these were the first steps in water dancing.

She repeated the moves again and again. And when she felt her class was ready, she had them come up and do them with her. As they grew more comfortable with the routine, she stopped leading and started moving amongst them once more.

After a few more passes of their routine, it was time to put the moves into use against an opponent. There was a collection of wooden sparring swords outside the smithy. Arya told her class to exchange their blades for wooden ones and choose a partner. She instructed them to spar using stances from their lesson. Again she walked between her students and gave them advice.

“Don’t reach,” she said to a young girl with long, dark hair. Arya’s hands moved up and down the front of her torso, “You’ll expose yourself to a blow to the chest or stomach. Most of your opponents will be bigger than you. Don’t try to meet them at their level. Make them come to you, stay low and strike.”

“Strike the legs or the lower belly,” she told a gangly looking boy in her class. “Bring your opponent down to you, and then go for the neck or the heart. Both will be a deathblow.”

They continued in pairs for the next half hour until Arya noticed her students were spent. It was nearly time for supper anyway, so she released them for the day.

Arya ensured that, before they rushed off, each child returned their sparring sword and grabbed their family sword to take home. She stayed outside the smithy as her students disappeared, doing one final count to be sure none of her students walked away with a practice sword.

By this time, Gendry had all but given up working for the day. There was no way he could focus after all that. Arya had just mesmerized him. The way she moved, it was a dance he’d never seen before. And she danced with much more grace than he ever remembered her having. He wondered if this was what she meant when she said she’d grown a lot in Bravos.

He could tell she was a great fighter now, and that brought a question to his mind that he felt he needed to ask.

“Milady!” Gendry called to her. Arya looked over to him. “You have any experience with a lance or a pole?”

Gendry and Arya had been pleasantly ignoring each other for the last few days. As he’d told her, he was at Winterfell to work. Nothing more. So that’s what he tried to do.

Gendry held up his newly minted spear. “Could you fight with this?”

“Why are you asking me?” Her voice was even, but Gendry knew she wasn’t pleased about being approached.

“I need someone to test this who knows what they’re doing,” he said bluntly. He’d never been put off by her moods before, and he wasn’t about to start now.

“You can have any man here test that for you.”

“Aye, but I want _your_ opinion.”

“Fine.” She gave in. “But I’ll need someone to spar with if I’m to test it properly.”

Gendry nodded. He walked over to the forge and picked up his hammer. He needed the practice as well.

“Interesting choice,” Arya said when she saw the weapon. Gendry had clearly made it after learning of his parentage. There was a stag head on each side of the hammer. The Baratheon’s were the only ones who were supposed to use any image of the animal. It was their sigil, after all. He couldn’t have asked anyone else work on it without being asked why he wanted such a particular ornament.

“I’ve never been good with swords,” he shrugged.

It was true. Gendry trained with a few sword masters in King’s Landing over the years. But he quickly saw no amount of practice would make him good at it. One teacher said he started learning too late. He was too used to wielding heavy tools as a blacksmith that were weighing more to one side.

That’s actually when he realized if he could make a large enough hammer, he could use that to fight with instead. Growing up, Gendry had heard stories of his father using a warhammer during the Rebellion. Perhaps his teacher’s words were a sign from the Gods he was meant to do the same.

Unfortunately, no master swordsman would train him while he chose to use a warhammer. So he had to learn on his own. Gendry set up dummies made of spare wood and straw around his shop in Flea Bottom. He’d pretend they were his sparring-mates. There was no harm in it. Smashed or not, the materials would all end up burning in the fire at some point, anyway.

Over the last few years, Gendry learned the exact weight and balance of his weapon. He knew precisely how much strength he needed to break the boards of his dummies clean through. He was very well practiced with his stationary sparring companions, but not so much with any kind of moving target. In fact, the two Gold Cloaks at the beach were the first living things he’d ever used his hammer on.

“I do remember you swinging swords before,” Arya replied coolly. Gendry figured she was thinking of the time she’d seen him work at the Harrenhal the smithy while they were being held captive there.

“Swinging a sword and fighting with it are two completely different things, Milady. Especially if you plan on coming out of that fight alive.”

Arya raised an eyebrow at him. Gendry probably didn’t know it, but that sounded like something a dancing master might say.

“You sure you want to do this? You’ve never asked me to test your weapons before.”

_That_ was because she had been a child before, one with no real knowledge of hand-to-hand combat. He couldn’t give her a weapon back then and reasonably expect her to come back with any useful notes for him. All she’d likely say was that the sword was pretty, or sharp, or too heavy for her. It was different now that he knew she’d had some training.

Gendry nodded back to her.

Truthfully, he had an uneasy feeling about this, but he pushed it down. It was too late to back down now.

“Whenever you’re ready,” she outstretched her hand towards him. He was to make the first move.

Gendry took a tentative swing at her, aiming at her center like a real adversary might. She dodged it easily. He took another swing, this one bolder, and then another.

She took a few steps back and crouched slightly. She shifted her weight to her back foot, and before Gendry could move away, she rushed at him and landed a kick on his left knee. It wasn’t enough to hurt, just enough to break his stance. He fell forward, catching himself with one hand on the ground.

_Seven Hells_ she was fast.

“You’ve got to learn to move your feet. Stand in one place the whole time and you’ve given your enemies something big and easy to target.”

Gendry huffed as he stood back up. In his gut, he wasn’t surprised by this. He was being too timid, and she’d landed an easy blow. He wouldn’t let her get a second.

She walked to his left, his weaker side, as if she was about to circle him. Gendry didn’t want her directly behind him, who knows if she’d try to attack him from back there or not. So he turned with her until they ultimately switched sides.

Arya moved all her weight to her back foot once more, only Gendry was the one to charge this time. Using much more force than before, he swung his hammer diagonally across her torso. She jumped back to avoid his reach, but Gendry lunged forward, swinging back the other way. Arya took the opportunity to whack the blunt end of her spear against his arm, then she quickly used her other hand to ram the center of her staff into his ribs.

“I take it you weren’t actually watching my lesson today?” she teased. “Don’t lunge.”

There was a hint of a smile on her lips. She was enjoying this. He was sure of it.

They faced one another again. Gendry began circling her, moving to her right. Arya’s weaker side, if he remembered correctly. Arya’s eyes followed him, but the rest of her remained put. Gendry stopped when he was directly behind her, and he couldn’t help but tease her back.

“What was all that about moving your feet?”

Arya’s smile only grew bigger. He had no idea what he was in for.

In one swift motion, she threw her elbow up high behind her head; she twisted just enough to be sure of her target. The pointy end of her arm impacted squarely on the side of his head. It was the perfect spot to knock him off balance and make his ears ring at the same time.

Before Gendry had the chance to recover, Arya sank down low and threw her leg out to trip him.

Gendry crashed into the freezing mud like a falling tree trunk. It took him a moment to realize what happened, and by then, his clothes were completely sodden. When his eyes came back into focus, he saw Arya standing over him, holding the obsidian blade a few millimeters from his face.

“Don’t give away your position by opening your stupid, bloody mouth.”

“So you like the weapon, then?” He smiled up at her.

She flipped the lance around so the blade came to be at rest. “It’ll do,” Arya said as he got back on his feet. She passed the spear back to him, and turned to walk away without another word.

Sam must have come back to the smithy in the middle of their match, because Gendry saw a giant blob of black lumbering towards him out of the corner of his eye. He was likely coming over to console Gendry for losing, but before Sam reached him, Gendry hobbled after Arya. He’d had another idea, and he didn’t want to let this opportunity slip away.

“I want to make weapons for the young ones,” Gendry blurted out in her general direction. “If they’re going to fight, they need to be armed with weapons they can actually carry and use. Weapons that won’t weigh them down.”

“Then do it.” Arya said as she continued across the courtyard. Sansa had given him nearly free-reign over the smithy. He didn’t need permission for something like this. He should have known that.

“I need you to tell me how the weapons feel in your hands,” he continued. “I can’t arm the young ones with heavy swords and spears. They’re tire too quickly.”

Arya turned around, her arms crossed over the chest defensively. “Are you asking me because I’m small?”

“No! I’m asking you because I know you’ll be honest if the weapon’s not right. If I ask any of them,” he gestured to where the children were having their lessons earlier, “they’ll try to be brave and lie, saying it’s fine even when it’s not. That’s what children do. They give you the answer they think you want to hear, not always what’s right.”

“I never did that.”

“Exactly.”

Arya clenched her jaw so tight, Gendry was sure she’d refuse. But instead, she ground out, “Fine. Send for me when you have something ready.”

Gendry was so relieved she liked his plan, he let out a huge gulp of air he didn’t remember taking. Before he could think of anything else to say, Arya vanished and Sam suddenly appeared at his side.

Eyes wide, the larger man said, “Let’s find you some supper… And maybe something clean to wear.”


	5. Chapter 5

Supper was a generous term for what they were having. The two men each had a small bowl of stew, followed by _ several _large rounds of drinks. Gilly and her son sat with them. She did not partake in the ale, but Gilly did have some stew. She even managed to get Little Sam to eat a few bites from her bowl.

The three adults chatted amiably throughout the evening. They mostly spoke about Winterfell and the people they’d met since arriving. This place was so different from any other three of them had been before. They spent a lot of time comparing it to King’s Landing and The Wall. 

The more time Gendry spent with Gilly, the more he liked her. Gendry found it interesting hearing from a true Northerner how she survived snow year-round. She wasn’t the prettiest or the smartest woman out there, but she was strong and she looked after her own with a firm, but gentle, hand. She reminded Gendry a lot of Arya in that way. 

Little Sam was cute too, but Gendry didn’t give the boy much thought other than to briefly consider his parentage. He was young, and it could be too soon to know for sure, but Gendry didn’t see much of the older Sam in him. It shouldn’t have mattered either way, but Gendry felt compelled to ask his new comrade about it sometime soon. 

Gilly and Little Sam supped with them for nearly two hours, but she excused herself and the child when the food was gone and the baby was too squirmy to sit still any longer. Neither Sam nor Gendry minded this, though. They were too engrossed in their conversation about different kinds of armor to care about much of anything right now. 

When Gilly was out of sight, Gendry decided to change their conversation back to something more personal. He turned to Sam and abruptly said, “I thought Men of the Night’s Watch weren’t allowed to marry.” 

Sam sputtered his drink. “Gilly isn’t my wife!” he exclaimed. “She is my… my companion...”

“Companion?” Gendry didn’t believe that for a second. 

“Aye, and nothing more!”

“She has a child with your name.” Gendry never heard of such a thing before unless a father wanted to pass down his name to his son. Or the other way around with a mother and a daughter.

“That is purely a coincidence.” Sam waved his hands out in front of him, as if trying to convince Gendry even more. “She was already pregnant when we met. Sam just happened to be the name she picked.”

“Then why do you treat Little Sam like he’s your son?”

“Well...I have been helping Gilly raise him.” Sam took a long swig of his drink. “But, truthfully, I cannot claim him.” 

“Who’s the father, then?”

“His name was Craster. Nasty old man. He’s dead now, though.”

“Did you kill him?”

“No. One of my brothers did.”

Gendry nodded. In his stupor, it was starting to make sense. All except for one part. “So... you and Gilly are...just friends? You honestly expect me to believe there’s nothing between you?”

There was more. Anyone with eyes could see there was more. But Sam, tired of answering these questions again and again from everyone he met, diverted the conversation back to Gendry so he wouldn’t have to answer. 

“And what about you, then?” he asked. “Are you married?” 

“No,” Gendry shrugged. 

“Do you even have someone waiting for you?”

“No,” he said more quietly.

“What’s the longest you’ve ever been in a relationship with a woman?”

“Well, I’ve never really been…” Gendry started to admit. Fuck. Sam leaned in; he wanted more details. And Gendry was too drunk to back-pedal now. He was going to have to talk about this. 

“I came close once to starting up with a girl once,” he explained. “I think she knew I was never going to try to win her over, so she asked me.”

“What did she ask you, exactly?” 

Gendry took a deep breath. “She asked me to be her family.”

“That’s very forward,” Sam said, lurching backwards in shock.

“Aye.” Gendry smiled into his drink, thinking back on how it all happened. “That’s just how she was.”

“What did you say?”

“I turned her down. She was too young to know what she was asking. And even if she’d been older, she’s highborn, and I’m just a blacksmith. It would never’ve worked.” 

Sam snickered, “You seem to have trouble with highborn ladies.”

“You mean Arya Stark?” 

Sam nodded back to him.

Fuck. Again. Gendry groaned internally. He should have known he wasn’t going to be able to avoid this forever. At least Sam let him get properly drunk before bringing it up.

“How much of our fight did you see?” Gendry asked. 

“All of it. And I must admit, she made a proper fool of you.”

Gendry couldn’t help but laugh. “In my defense, I didn’t know she was that good ‘a fighter. Besides, I’m surprised she didn’t completely throttle me. She’s been upset with me for a while, now.”

“How’s that? Didn’t you two just meet?”

“No. We met each other in King’s Landing about six years ago,” he said. Gendry briefly told him the same story he’d told Jon on their way to Eastwatch. “She was so angry with me when I told her I wanted to join the Brotherhood. Then I was sold to Stannis Baratheon and sent off to Dragonstone before I even got the chance.”

“You went to Dragonstone?!” 

“Aye, but that's an even longer story.” Gendry waved his hand dismissively. That was a conversation he _ definitely _ wasn’t having today. “Point is, she was right there when it happened. I thought she was still angry with me for wanting to join the Brotherhood, that she’d be pleased to see me being carted off. But she wasn’t. She fought for me. Tried to free me, even. Didn’t work, though. Still wound up at the hands of the Baratheon’s.”

Sam nodded like he understood, but his face said otherwise. “I thought you said she was angry with you…?”

“She is,” Gendry insisted. The alcohol might be making his brain fuzzy, but he knew she was always mad at him for something.

“I don’t understand.”

“Me neither. But I know she’s mad at me.” There was really nothing more Gendry could add. 

Instead of pressing the poor smith further, Sam decided to raise a glass. “To women,” he toasted.

“To women.”

~

Unbeknownst to the two men, Arya stood in a shadow along the side wall, listening intently to their entire conversation. Sansa had asked her to spy on Gendry. And as much as she didn’t think it was necessary, she was doing it anyway. Besides, after her fight with Gendry, Arya was too energized to spend the rest of the night quietly in her rooms. 

She’d considered wearing one of her faces while doing reconnaissance around the Winterfell, but there was really no need. There were so many new, unfamiliar people around, it was easy for her to blend in. And she _ was _small, which helped. She was well hidden, and the two men were carrying on as if they really were alone.

Considering the tasks before them, Arya expected to hear mostly shop-talk from them tonight. But no. They had talked about girls! And some would even say they sounded a bit like girls while they were at it.

Arya overheard things she never expected to hear. Not from them. Sam and Gilly’s histories were interesting. True. But the most interesting part was hearing Gendry speak about their friendship as if it had been a romantic relationship.

Arya remembered being a few years younger and completely smitten with him. She had asked him to stay with her, to travel with her, to go home with her. And he had refused. He didn’t seem interested in her back then, but now he’s saying he was? Was he lying to her all those years ago? Or was he lying to Sam now? Normally, she’d use some of her truth-telling tricks on him, but she wasn’t within range at the moment.

About a half hour after Gilly left, Sam dismissed himself to use the privy. Arya took the opportunity to approach Gendry, who now sat alone at one end of the long table.

“When you’re sober, come and find me.” She had questions for him.

Arya must have surprised him because Gendry jumped, sloshing his drink over the rim of his cup. Arya realized then that he’d washed and changed since she’d last seen him. He looked good, despite being startled.

“Today?!” He gaped at her as he tried to dry his hands on his pants.

The alcohol was making him even more stupid than normal. Arya had to seriously resist the urge to smack him across the backside of his head.

“Yes. Today.”

“How will I find you?” he asked incredulously. Surely, she did not expect him to go bumbling around this giant castle, a place he still didn’t know very well, and open every door until he found her!

“I have faith in you,” she said. And then she disappeared without another word. 

Apparently, that was exactly what she expected.

~

Gendry switched over to water immediately after Arya left. When Sam came back, they started up their conversations on obsidian again. They stayed at their table for another hour, strategizing how to divide the work between the different smiths in the forge.

When that was done, Sam announced it was time for him to make his way to bed, and Gendry could not have been more relieved. He had his wits back, mostly, but he was still going over all the places he thought Arya might choose to wait for him. 

The larger man ambled away, leaving Gendry to his puzzle. The smith took a few more gulps of water just to ensure he’d be as sober as possible. Then, suddenly, it hit him.

He ventured to the building next door and found the hallway of store rooms where he and Arya had spoken a few days before. There was one door about halfway down that was slightly ajar, and he knew that was where he would find her.

Gendry went inside and closed the door securely behind him. The room was square shaped, with fires lit on either side. There were dozens of clothes lines hung up inside, each draped with damp bed linens. Gendry quickly realized this was where they dried the laundry.

“See?” Arya said coming forward from behind on of the sheets to his right. “You always seem to find your way back to me.”

Gendry tensed his jaw. He had prepared for this to be an awkward conversation. Not for her to make jokes like this.

“What do you want?” Gendry asked firmly. The sooner this was over, the better in his mind.

“Did you mean what your said in there?” Arya asked him bluntly. Her face was just as unreadable as it was before their match earlier that day. “I’m the closest you’ve come to being in a relationship?”

“You were listening to us?” Gendry didn’t know why he was surprised. The way Arya suddenly appeared in Sansa’s rooms the day he first arrived should have been clue enough that she was keen on eavesdropping.

“Of course, I was.” Arya tried not to sound annoyed. This wasn’t supposed to be about her spying. She needed to keep this conversation on point. “You’ve really never been with anyone other than me?”

“When you say been with…” 

“So, you’ve had sex before.” Arya raised an eyebrow at him, almost knocking him backwards at her sharpness. 

“Arya,” he warned. This was too personal.

“Don’t lie to me. I’ll know if you lie.”

“Why do you want to know a thing like that?”

“So, it’s true.” Gendry shut his mouth, but his face told her everything she needed to know. “How many women have you slept with?”

“Arya…”

“One? Two? Twenty?” When he didn’t answer, Arya pushed him further. “You don’t remember?” 

Arya didn’t know why she was questioning him like this. She didn’t want to interrogate him or drive him away. That was the exact opposite of what she wanted. She had to show him that. It was probably the only way he would understand why she was doing this. 

Arya stood up on her toes and placed her lips lightly on his. She rested them there for a few moments before she stepped back. 

“We’re probably going to die soon,” she said quietly. “I want to know what it’s like before that happens.”

Gendry had closed his eyes. His jaw was still clenched, and he was breathing hard through his nose. 

He wanted her badly. Just in the few days he’d been in Winterfell, he found himself constantly looking over his shoulder in case he might catch a glimpse of her. When she finally _ was _close-by, he came up with reasons to keep her near him, like having her test his new weapons. 

Gendry knew it would be a horrible mistake to reject her again, but he felt he had to. 

“We can't do this,” he murmured. “Your family will kill us.”

“I don’t care.”

“I care!” 

Arya strongly doubted any of her siblings would mind if she bedded the blacksmith. Besides, it’s not as if they were here now. She had to find a way to get through to him. 

“They never need to know,” she said.

“But they will know,” Gendry argued. “These kinds of things never stay secret for long.”

“They won’t find out. Not from me.” Arya echoed the words Gendry had said to her when he’d first confronted her about being a girl. Gendry recognized it immediately. It was his promise that he would keep her secret. And for some reason, that was exactly what he needed to hear in order to give in.

He bent down to kiss her again, this time with far less restraint. He slid his tongue into her mouth, and she soon found it was something she couldn’t get enough of. The taste on his lips, however, was another story.

“You always did like the taste of alcohol,” she teased him.

“And you always hated it.”

“I still do. But for you, I can make an exception.”

Gendry smiled. He was about to lean in to kiss her again when they suddenly heard movement in the hall behind them. They broke apart and froze. Each held their breath as the footsteps steadily came and went outside the door.

“We can’t stay here,” Gendry whispered when the coast was clear. “Not without being found out.”

“We can if we’re quiet.” There was no other place she wanted to be right now. Arya went up on her toes and put her lips on his once more.

Gendry could not believe he was doing this. This was a terrible idea. They were going to be caught, he was sure of it. He should have refused. But the way Arya was kissing him, he couldn’t pull himself away.

Before long, they were tearing at each other’s clothes until only their shoes and trousers were left. Arya remembered seeing Gendry shirtless several years ago while he worked on a longsword at Harrenhal. She’d wondered what his chest would feel like back then. The man was pure muscle from the waist up. He still was, and the feel of his muscles below her fingertips was better than anything she’d ever imagined. Arya couldn’t wait to figure out the rest of him. 

Being with him was exhilarating, but also a bit perplexing. Because of her training, Arya was more accustomed to rough hits than anything else. She had to remind herself that Gendry was not a sparring partner right now. He wasn’t there to harm her. There was no need to flinch at his touch.

Still, when Gendry tried to put his hand on the back of Arya’s head to deepen their kiss, Arya shoved him away. It just happened. It was like an instinct she couldn’t control, but Arya was glad she did it. She took it as a sign that she needed to be the one in control. After everything she’d been through, this had to be on her terms. 

Gendry tumbled onto several large canvas bags that had been popped up against the wall. They were surprisingly soft and comfortable. By the feel of them, he guessed there were more linens inside. 

Arya crouched down to untie the laces on her boots, and Gendry did the same. Next, the ties beside their waists came undone. When they were bare to each other, Arya climbed onto his lap. 

She was ready to have him right then and there, but something about the way he was looking at her made her slow down. She kissed him softly, instead, allowing him to slip his tongue into her mouth again. Kissing like this was so much more pleasurable than she ever thought possible. It’s no wonder so many of Sansa’s love stories mention it.

Gendry reached forward and pressed his thumb against her. Arya gasped in response. That certainly wasn’t in any of Sansa’s stories. It was something Arya had figured out on her own over the years. But she had no idea he’d know about it too.

Arya reached out for him in return. His cock felt different than she’d expected. But good. She ran her hand up and down, watching his face as she did. As much as she tried to hide it in the beginning, she was testing the waters with him because she was unsure of what to do. 

Gendry gasped at her featherlight touches. He’d never had anyone be so meek with him before. If he wasn’t careful, he’d come undone with her just doing this. Hoping it refocus her attention, Gendry doubled his attention on her clit. 

It worked. Arya’s mouth fell open a few moments later, and the hand on his cock stopped moving. Gendry felt her entire body tense soon after. “_Good _,” he thought. She needed to be relaxed for what was coming next. 

Arya held her breath as the waves of pleasure ran through her. When she came down from her high, Arya crashed her mouth back down onto his. She kissed him deeply, no longer hiding how badly she wanted him. Even though she didn’t say it, Gendry knew it was time. 

Arya climbed closer to Gendry, never once breaking their kiss, until she was positioned right over his cock. She grabbed him and slowly started sinking down onto him. Arya pushed through the pain of losing her maidenhead until he was completely sheathed inside her.

Gendry sat up to help her. He put his hands on her hips and guided her up and down until she found a steady pace. His hands were rough, long since calloused by his work at the forge. But Arya didn’t mind. If anything, she thought it suited him. 

As Arya quickened, Gendry’s grip fell slack and he just let her move. 

It was heaven. Pure heaven being with her like this. She was so wet and tight around him, Gendry had to force himself not to call out in pleasure.

Arya laced her arms around his upper body. One around his shoulders and the other around his waist. She was using him to keep herself steady as she moved. Gendry, in turn, propped himself up with one hand, and the other returned to her clit.

Arya’s head fell to his shoulder as her climax started building once more. She lost her rhythm, bucking more wildly, as she searched for release. Gendry was right there with her. She was driving him crazy, and he was struggling to hold on. 

Gendry felt her walls tighten around him, and he had to lift her off him so he wouldn’t spill his seed inside her. Arya looked angry for a second, but he cupped her sex in just the right way, he had her falling apart again before she knew it.

Arya didn’t want to come alone, though. She knew Gendry was still hard and wanting. Her hand wrapped around him again, much more confidently this time. He was slick from being inside her. Arya wasn’t expecting that, but she liked it. She moved slowly, forcefully, just as he was with her.

Their hands were shaking with need. Arya came first, clenching her grip on Gendry as she went. It was just enough to send him over the edge a moment later.

They breathed heavily, eyes wide in awe as they regained their senses. Gendry fell back, naked and spent. Arya moved off him and onto a second canvas bag to his side. She lay on her side so she could look at him. There was an expression on his face that she didn’t understand.

“What is it?” Arya asked.

Gendry was in awe. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he’d end up here, having just done that. There were so many thoughts swirling around in his head. He was happy beyond measure, but now also twice as nervous for the war that was about to come. But most of all, he was confused. Why he was the one here lying next to Arya Stark?

“Why me?” He asked her. “I mean, why did you pick me as your first? I’m sure you could’ve gone to bed with any number of different lads over the last few years. Why wait for me?”

“I wasn’t waiting for you,” she practically rolled her eyes at him. “It just hadn’t come up before.” 

That wasn’t entirely true, but there was no sense telling him everything she’d been through right now.

“And I don’t know,” she went on. “I guess...you were the only one I ever thought of in that way. And when I heard you talking to Sam about how you’d wanted to be with me too, I figured there was no sense waiting any more. Especially if you’re still _ unattached _.”

Gendry laughed. Gods he’d missed her.

Gendry reached her hand suddenly, and pulled it up to his chest. “I was such an idiot back then,” he admitted. “I should’ve left that stupid cave with you when you’d asked.”

“It’s alright.” 

“No, it’s not. I keep thinking if we’d gone to River Run like you wanted, maybe things would have turned out different.”

“You mean maybe we’d both be dead now too?” Arya cringed at the thought. It was bad enough she’d lost her mother and brother there.

“No! I mean, maybe we could’ve helped stop it.”

“You can’t think like that. There was nothing anyone could’ve done. They Frey’s are all dead now, anyway.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” She’d made sure of that. “Besides, we’re both here now. If we hadn’t been separated, I would never have gone to Bravos, would never have learned to fight properly. I would have been small and weak my whole life.”

“You were never weak.”

She shook her head. “I was.” Just the memory of her younger self was enough to make her feel ridiculous. “I was a silly child playing at swords. I needed a master to teach me.”

“And you found one in Essos?”

“I did.”

“So, I take it you’ve trained with all different kinds of weaponry?” He asked randomly. He was trying to lighten the mood. “What kind of swords do you like?”

“All kinds.”


	6. Chapter 6

A week later and Arya was the happiest she’d been in ages. Her students were making steady progress in their lessons. She’d found a quiet, comforting companionship with her brother Bran. Jon was apparently halfway back to Winterfell from King’s Landing, and Sansa even seemed pleased with her reconnaissance work. 

But the biggest impact of all was her relationship with Gendry. It was going so much better than she could’ve ever imagined. Any time they could slip away, they would. And they’d managed to have sex more times in the last seven days than Arya dared to admit. 

They were finally at the point where they were comfortable with one another again. Arya no longer recoiled when Gendry touched her, and Gendry no longer jumped when Arya suddenly appeared out of nowhere. It actually seemed like he expected her visits now.

The more time they spent together, the more Arya felt their friendship was back, but now with a whole new dimension it never had before. And honestly, it felt amazing.

The only difficult part about their relationship was keeping it a secret. They often felt the need to be near one another, which meant a lot of sneaking around. And they could only be together for short periods of time, or else it would seem like their duties were being neglected. Arya still had responsibilities to her siblings and her students, and Gendry had thousands of weapons to make.

To that end, Gendry spent the majority of his time working in the forge. And the obsidian work was finally moving. 

The day after Arya tested his spear prototype, Gendry and his fellow smiths had a breakthrough. If they kept the weapons oversized during the first pass of production, they could chip away any excess glass to sharpen the blades while also witling them down to a more appropriate size. Then the excess pieces could be used again to eliminate waste. 

Long swords still didn’t work with this method, but they were able to make dirks, throwing knives, spear tips, axes, and arrow-heads. So long as the original mold was dense enough to withstand phase two of the process, Gendry figured they should be able to create almost anything out of these rocks now.

Arya, on the other hand, had a litany of things to do. In addition to spying for Sansa, testing weapons for the blacksmiths, and maintaining her own rigorous training schedule, she still held a daily dancing lesson for young ones in the afternoon. As word of her classes spread, more and more students came to join up. Arya now found herself wrangling twenty children, whereas she started with less than half only a few days ago. 

Most of her students were awkward and clumsy, having never learned to fight properly before, but there were a few who showed promise. She’d even found a star pupil in a young noble-lady from Bear Island. 

Arya ventured into the bailey for the day’s lessons a few minutes early. She didn’t see Gendry in the forge, which meant he was likely in the back someplace. She did, however, spy Little Sam playing with one of the practice swords in the yard while his mother, Gilly, sat nearby cheering him on. 

The boy was still too young for Arya’s class. He couldn’t yet swing the sword without the weight of it dragging him down, but Arya appreciated his enthusiasm for swordplay all the same.

As she drew closer, Arya noticed Gilly’s hand resting absentmindedly on her stomach. Without even asking, Arya knew she was with child. It was that gesture. No grown woman rubs her stomach like that unless she is sick or with child, and Gilly certainly did not look ill.

“How far along are you?” Arya asked once she’d ambled her way to up Gilly’s side.

The young mother snapped her attention up to Arya, her face a little flushed at the Stark’s sudden appearance. “About halfway, I think,” she said with a kind intonation in her voice. “The sickness is gone, and I’ve started feeling little flutterings now and then. Not quite kicking yet, but it shouldn’t be too much longer ‘till that starts up.”

“You hoping for another boy?” Arya asked gently.

“Not sure.” Gilly wrinkled her brow as she thought about it more. “When I was carrying Little Sam, all I wanted was a girl. But now I have Sam, and I think another boy wouldn’t be so bad.”

Arya scoffed. “Isn’t it normally the other way around? Doesn’t everyone always want to have boys?”

“Not me. Growing up, I only ever wanted to have girls. So, I’ll be happy either way this time so long as the baby’s healthy and we all...” her voice fell off. 

Arya knew what she meant, though. _ So long as they all survived. _

“What about you,” Gilly asked. “When your time comes, will you want boys or girls?”

“I don’t want children.” Arya replied evenly. She couldn’t bear the thought of raising anyone. After everything she’d been through, the chances of her being a good parent were slim to none.

“You say that now.” Gilly added, “I didn’t want children either when I was younger. Didn’t really have much of a choice with Little Sam. But this one,” she rubbed her hand over her stomach once more. “This one’s different.”

Arya balked for a second, not quite sure how to react. She felt a little annoyed being told how she’d feel. Gilly didn’t know her well enough to make such predictions. But at the same time, Arya wanted to know what could make someone from beyond the Wall want to have children? Especially now? 

“What changed?” Arya asked, keeping the expression on her face as blank as possible.

“Sam. Samwell, I mean.”

“You fell in love with him?”

Gilly smiled at her feet. 

That was a yes.

“Funny thing about that,” the Northerner said. “I never would’ve thought I’d fall for him. But you know, you never decide when, or where, or who you’re going to love. It’s not something you can control. It just happens to you. And you always realize it sometime later, usually when he says or does something that upsets you.”

Arya stood stunned again. She had no idea Gilly could make such speeches. Maybe she was smarter than she looked. Or maybe it was Sam’s influence, teaching her from all the books he loved to tote around. 

Either way, Arya actively wanted to continue their conversation now, but she didn’t get the chance. Her students began converging on the courtyard before she could ask her next question.

Noticing this, Gilly got up and called Little Sam over. She told him to give the practice sword he’d been using back to Arya, which he did with only the slightest bit of pouting.

“Just remember,” Gilly whispered as she began to turn away. “When you _ do _find that special someone, drink your moon tea, or else you’ll end up big and pregnant like me.”

~

Arya felt flustered during her lesson, and she blamed Gilly for the whole thing. Every time she passed one of her students with dark hair, or bright blue eyes, she imagined herself having a child with Gendry that'd have that same feature.

It was the call to motherhood, as some would say. Arya’d never experienced it before, and the fact that she was feeling it now was a bit unnerving. 

And, as if that wasn’t enough to process, there was also this nagging question that Gilly planted in the back of her head that Arya just couldn’t shake. Was she in love with Gendry? 

She loved him. She wanted him to be a part of her life, that much had been true for years. It was why she’d offered to be his family the night he announced that he planned to join the Brotherhood. 

But did she love Gendry the way Gilly loved Sam? The way Arya remembered her parents loved each other? She truly didn’t know.

Arya felt her face grow hot the more she tried to figure it out. And then embarrassment set in. 

Where was her focus? She should be attending to her students right now, not thinking about boys! Her teachers would have all scolded her if they were here for being so distracted. Arya could practically see the Waif now, pacing back and forth with that fucking wooden pole in her hands. 

She had to reign herself in. So, Arya kept her eyes off the forge for the rest of the class, and if Gendry ever did come back into the forge, she intentionally didn’t notice. 

~

A few hours later, Arya had scraped through the end of her lesson, washed, and supped. She was leaving the kitchens, about to collect some intelligence for Sansa, when she spied Gendry from across the yard. He was finishing his own supper at one of the tall tables set up outside for the workers. He was flanked by Sam on one side and another young man who Arya’d seen working at the forge on the other. 

Gendry looked up from his meal and caught her staring in his direction. He would have been concerned, normally, if someone was watching him like that. Especially if that someone was a highborn. And even more so if he knew that highborn was an incredibly capable fighter, like Arya.

Only he wasn’t worried. At least, Arya didn’t think so. There was a small smile across his lips, barely detectable from such a distance, that made him look pleased to see her. It was enough to make Arya want to throw herself at him right then and there.

She normally preferred not to approach him in public. But at the sight of him, Arya remembered a conversation they’d had which she could use to her advantage.

Several days ago, Gendry had suggested fabricating something for her students, and she realized today that a few members of her class were nearing the point in their training where it was time to begin using actual weapons. They had mastered their stances, and they were using them fluidly when sparing one-on-one. But they had yet to attempt all these while swinging the full weight of a blade.

Arya could always advise these individuals to use their family longswords, which many of them still brought to class each day. But it seemed silly to have them train with heavy metal swords if Gendry would be able to supply something better in the near future.

The young Stark felt compelled to ask about the project. They hadn’t talked about it in a while, and if he did have something ready, she wanted to test it sooner rather than later. 

Furthermore, considering she could use his work as a conversation starter, something which would appear perfectly normal to any in Winterfell who knew he’d been working on weapons for her - as the two sitting with him certainly did - she struggled to find a reason to stay away.

“You still working on the weapon for my students?” Arya asked when she reached their table. 

Sam and the other man jumped at the sound of her voice. They clearly hadn’t noticed her heading their way. But they collected themselves quickly, and all three of them stood and bowed. 

“Yes, milady,” Gendry answered. “It’s nearly ready. Should be able to test it in the morning.”

Arya raised her brow. This was news to her.

“I’d like to see it now,” she proclaimed. 

One nice thing about being a Stark in Winterfell was the ability to command something without giving any clear explanation as to why it should be done. It was something Arya hadn’t taken advantage of much since her return, but now seemed like a good time. Particularly if it gave her an opportunity to be alone with her favorite blacksmith.

Gendry nodded. “This way, milady.” He outstretched his arm, a silent way of telling her that she should go first. Despite the fact that they walked side by side over most of the Seven Kingdoms, she was his superior in Winterfell, and this was the custom here. Highborns lead. 

It was crucial they acted distant with one another since they were now surrounded by gossip mongers. They walked in silence, as an added precaution, for that same reason. Any hint that they were something other than highborn and laborer could not be born. 

It was a good thing the forge stood less than fifty yards from the eatery. And it was even better that they found the smithy almost completely empty, the men all off enjoying their evening respite.

Gendry went in and picked up the piece centered on his workstation. It was a long metal sword that looked almost identical to Needle, but there were obsidian shards poking out of the blade on each side.

“Careful. It’s not fully set yet,” he warned as he held it out for her.

Arya took hold of the grip and gave the sword a few slow swings. It was light and relatively well balanced. Arya noticed it was designed so that the obsidian would hit the wight first no matter which side you used, making it lethal to the undead. All in all, it wasn’t half bad for a first attempt.

“Did you really need this now?” Gendry asked as she moved on to the next steps in her dance.

“No.” She gave him a small smile that mirrored the one we just wore at supper. 

Gendry sighed her name and shook his head, exasperated by her confession. 

Arya felt a sermon coming. Instead of allowing him to chastise her, she went on, hoping to lighten the mood. “I wanted to ask if you were going to be working tonight.”

Gendry perked up, seemingly less upset than he was a moment ago. He looked around the forge, assessing the state of the work that needed to be done. “I might be able to sneak away for a little while,” he replied quietly.

Arya finished her routine and gave the blade back to Gendry, intentionally brushing the side of her hand against his in the process. A wicked idea came to her when she felt his skin against her own. And this was one she had no intention of ignoring. 

“Good,” she said. “Come to my chambers. East wing, top floor, last room on the left.” 

Gendry gaped at her suggestion, but before he had a chance to argue, Arya disappeared around the bend. 

~

Gendry found her bedroom a few hours later, just where she said it would be. It was a thin, rectangular room. The stone walls of the castle continued throughout, broken only by the door and a small window on the opposite end. There was a fireplace just inside, and a wooden chair positioned nearby. Her bed was a strong looking structure. Great, hewn logs made the headboard and footboard at either end, and furs were draped all over the middle. 

Gendry wasn’t sure where she’d been in the room when he walked in. All he knew was her mouth was on his before he could even close the door. 

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she breathed against him.

Gendry smiled through her continued onslaught of kisses. He had waited on purpose. 

For one thing, he had to ensure enough time had passed since her departure so it didn’t look like he was following her. And for another, he needed the time to think of a way to get payback for her recklessness. 

If she had waited a half hour longer, he would’ve been at his workbench instead of supper, where approaching him would not have been so suspicious. Arya saved herself by only speaking to him about work at the eatery, but then she impulsively asked him to come to her bedroom, a place which he had no justifiable business entering, where it would be extremely dangerous to be found. 

Making her wait for him was the first step in his plan.

Gendry backed her into one of the stone walls in her bedchamber. This was the second step in his revenge. Arya preferred being in control. He was going to lead, even if it would only be for a few minutes.

“Do you trust me,” he asked.

Arya nodded. He was one of the few people outside her immediate family who she trusted implicitly. Unlike when they were children, she knew exactly what his intentions were right now. 

He leaned down and kissed her again, this time gentler. Arya couldn’t stand it. She had been trying not to think about him all day, how she wanted him inside her, hard and rough and fast. She really hadn’t been very successful at that. And now that she finally had him alone, he was moving like molasses. Frozen molasses at that. It was infuriating.

She tried to quicken the pace. She tried to pull him closer, to kiss him deeper, but nothing worked. She reached for the strings on his breeches, hoping he would get the hint. But he caught her hands after she’d barely undone the first loop.

“Be patient,” he chided her. 

Arya wanted to lash out. Patience was not one of her strengths. Though she was nowhere near as rash as she had been when they first met, she still hated waiting for things she wanted. And he knew that.

“I need you,” she whispered, hoping to coax him into a similar sense of urgency.

His hands fell to the junction between her legs. “You have me,” he teased. “I’m right here.”

Arya let out a ragged moan. The tip of his middle finger found her clit through the front of her trousers with just the right amount of pressure. Arya tilted her head down, resting it against his chest. She watched his hands work. He held a steady rhythm, finally building her up. 

He brought her to the edge, a place he’d come to recognize quite easily in the last week, then he stopped suddenly. 

Arya wanted to scream at him. “_Really _ ,” she thought. “_He cannot be doing this now! _”

Gendry lurched down onto his knees right in front of her. Arya thought he might say something, or even pray - pray for her forgiveness - stopping to crouch down like that. But instead, he undid the laces of her boots and took them off one at a time. When her shoes and socks were out of sight, he untied the laces at the top of her pants and slowly pulled them down. 

She stepped out of them, leaving her bare from the waist down with his face only inches away from her sex. If she was completely honest, Arya felt more than a little awkward. In all the times they’d been together, Gendry had never done this.

Arya didn’t know what to expect. The only thing she could think to do was follow her instincts. And right now, her instincts told her to stay still, show no fear, and wait for him to make the next move. He asked for her trust, and she was determined to give it to him.

Without a word, he buried his face in her sex, continuing his attention on her clit. 

Thoughts turned to mush inside Arya’s brain. All she could process now was the feeling of his tongue against her. It was so much better than just touching. 

She felt herself building ten times faster than before. She wove her hands into his hair, and came with the biggest orgasm she’d ever felt. Her whole body tensed as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. And Gendry didn’t stop until he was sure she was completely spent.

“Better?” he asked, smug as can be.

“A little.”

Gendry chuckled. She never did like to admit defeat. Undeterred, he picked her up and carried her to the bed. Arya giggled as soon as her feet left the floor. Who knew someone so fierce could have such a girlish laugh? The sound of it only spurred him on more.

He set her down on the edge of the mattress and said, “Well, if I’m to do my job properly, milady, I think you’re a bit overdressed.” He fisted the bottom hem of her shirt and pulled it up over her head.

Arya slid back on the bed, naked and unashamed. 

Gendry quickly followed suit. He removed his shirt, then toed off his own shoes and threw down his own trousers as fast as he could. If he was being honest, all this foreplay was taking a toll. He really was torturing himself as much as he was torturing her by going so slowly. 

Gendry climbed on to the bed and immediately decided it was the best bed he’d ever been in. The mattress was some kind of feather down, which was far more comfortable than the straw ones he’d slept on before. The sheets were soft to the touch, the furs even more so. But most of all, he liked this bed because it was Arya’s.

He settled in next to her. Gendry had just one second to savor the moment before Arya reached up and pulled him down for a kiss. He was more than happy to oblige.

He lavished her mouth before moving on to her neck, and then, eventually, her chest. Gendry rolled his tongue over one of her nipples, while his free hand palmed the other. Arya let out one of those hushed moans he’d found himself chasing more than once in the last seven days. Gods. The sounds she made would be the end of him.

Gendry couldn’t wait any longer. He moved over her, giving Arya one last look of warning. 

She nodded and held onto his arms, trying to keep steady, as he thrust into her. She raised her legs over his back and felt him sink even deeper. She clawed at him, urging him on. She began to feel her climax growing once more, and she made no attempt to hide it from him.

Gendry understood. He felt it too. The more he moved, the better it felt. He picked up his pace until he was practically slamming into her. Arya’s body tensed in his arms, and he knew she was at her end. He felt her tighten around his cock as her pleasure hit, and he couldn’t hold on any longer. He pulled out and grabbing his cock, catching it, and with one last tug, came onto her stomach.

Gendry collapsed beside her, breathless.

Arya laid still for a moment, relishing the feeling, before she grabbed a corner of the sheet to clean the cum off her front. Doing this made her remember the conversation she’d had with Gilly earlier that day about children and moon tea, and she realized for the first time that Gendry always did that. He always pulled out.

It made Arya wonder - was he the same with other girls? Or was she different because he thought of her as a lady? She knew she wasn’t his first. She hadn’t been able to get any details out of him, but she knew he hadn’t lied about it when he admitted he wasn’t a virgin. She was very good at spotting lies these days. Besides, even before tonight, he’d proven himself too knowledgeable to be so inexperienced. 

Arya rolled over on to her side to get a better look at him. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing hard, but he still looked quite at ease. If ever there were a time to pose this question to him, Arya supposed it ought to be right after sex, while he’s still relaxed.

No matter how awkward it might be, Arya knew this was a question she wanted answered. 

“Can I ask you something?” she inquired. Gendry didn’t answer, so Arya went ahead. “When we’re together, you never finish inside me. Have you ever?” 

“Never,” he said softly.

Arya felt her stomach unclench. She hadn’t even felt them tense up again. Though she was relieved by his answer, it only brought new questions to mind. 

“You don’t want children, then?” Arya propped herself up on one elbow so she could get a better angle on his face. That way, she could truly judge his reaction.

Gendry looked over to her with a surprised look on his face. “Do you want children?” he asked, completely ignoring the fact that Arya had asked him first.

“Sansa would kill me if I even thought about having children before getting married,” Arya deflected. “She can only tolerate me breaking so many societal rules at once. And she still doesn’t like that I fight so much.”

Gendry laughed. “That’s good, though. At least, that’s the way it should be. Marriage before children.”

“That is what people expect here in Westeros,” Arya mused.

“It’s different elsewhere?” Gendry asked. Having no formal education, and no Bravosi coin to cross the narrow sea, Gendry hadn’t even thought to consider there was another way.

“Yeah. Some countries don’t even have marriage.”

Gendry rolled over onto his side so that he was facing her more directly. “How does that work?” His interest was truly spiked. 

“Two people who want to be together...just live...together.”

“Any if they have children?”

“Then they have children,” Arya shrugged.

“Yes, but are their children not bastards?” he asked.

“No. Without marriage, there’s no such things as legitimate children and bastards. They’re all just children.”

Gendry huffed. He didn’t have to say the next thought that came across his mind for Arya to understand. It would have been nice to grow up like that. 

“Can always go there, if you like,” Arya suggested. 

“The two of us? Together?” He asked, trying to make sure he understood her meaning.

“Sure. Why not?”

Gendry froze, thinking it over carefully for a moment, before his face fell downcast. “It’s a nice dream, milady,” he said. “But don’t forget we both have to survive this war first. And even after that...” He sighed, not sure the best way to go on.

“After that?” 

“One day,” he continued, “you’ll marry another highborn with land and titles and trunks full of gold. As you said, your sister likes you to follow tradition in these kinds of ways. She’ll likely never let you do anything different.”

The image put a sour taste in Arya’s mouth. As much as she wanted to argue, there was too much truth in what he said.

“And you will let me marry another?” she asked quietly.

“I will have no choice.”


End file.
